OSAB : Memories Long Forgotten
by LogicalPremise
Summary: A prequel to "Of Sheep and Battle Chicken" , Rael'Zorah has to complete his Pilgramage, but gets caught up in a whirlwind of political intrigue, interspecies romance, murder, and a shadow war between a Terminus Warlord and the Shadow Broker. Includes cameos by Saren and some other OC's seen in my main fic.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Another short story, this one about Tali's father when he was on his own pilgrimage.

The hum of the Vidyna was louder than normal, a side effect of the constant strain on the massive liveship's mass effect fields to maintain it's girth and length. Rael'Zorah nar Vidyna usually just ignored it, having lived his whole life with it's background noise, but now the sound bothered him as he waited impatiently for the Conclave to greet him.

He stared at his new enviro-suit in the mirror, dawdling in the luxury of the clean room. The mirror on the wall was floor length, one of the few he'd ever seen, giving quarians the privilege of looking on their bodies one last time before sealing themselves away for who knew how many years while on Pilgrimage. He'd already slowly put the suit on – first the self-sealing undersuit, laced with medigel dispensers, cleaning flushes, and the like, it's silken texture so much finer than his earlier, patchwork suits he'd worn growing up. Then the _idekka –_the oversuit, the armored segments clasping around his legs, torso, arms, and shins, each one snapping into the undersuit and linking to the support system.

He glanced out the one window at the stars beyond as he slid into the support pack, rolling his shoulders to adjust it's fit, and crossed the straps across his broad chest. For a quarian, Rael was a big man, standing almost 6 and a half feet tall, wide shoulders and heavy, muscular arms a gift from his years loading cargo by hand in the docking bays. His legs curved , also thick with muscle, as he swayed to one side, then the other, testing the balance of his air-pack. The pack contained not only six hours of air, but the myriad gel filters, DETA filters and purification matrixes that kept him from the outside world's germs.

Raal sighed, as he picked up his helmet, his gaze straying the mirror again. He had his mother's eyes, his father had told him, pale silver with a hint of bronze. His cheekbones were high and angular, making his strong jaw look almost jutting, the black hair atop his head savagely braided down in the spacer's mat that would allow his helmet the best fit. He ran his gloved hand over his face one last time before sliding the helmet over his head, his vision turning a faint purple as the visor snapped on and powered up when he hooked it into his suit.

His omni-tool beeped, sending a HUD spiraling into existence on the inner surface of his suit. It displayed the Fleet time and date, air conditions, contaminant levels, and other function that he could tab through using his tongue on the four studs at the base of the mask. He brought up the omni-tools multifunction interface and powered on all the environmental systems, the suit inflating slightly and the kinetic barriers snapping to full power with an angry buzzing sound. Cool, faintly scented air from his pack blew over his face, and the undersuit inflated with shock-absorbing gel, clinging to his body and conforming to it's shape.

As he finished, the door chimed, three times. The light over it went from purple to blue, and then to yellow, the color of fire and danger. He straightened, nodding to himself, and walked to the small shelf in the wall. He picked up his pistol , a lightweight Raptor model his father had bought him on Naming Day, and the heavy and ugly sniper rifle he'd picked out himself from the Marine armory. The pistol went into the loose leather holster at his belt, along with his knife. The sniper he snapped to the maglock on the small of his back, and with one final look in the mirror, he hit the airlock control, cycling the room clean and exiting the airlock that lead into the rest of the ship.

The hallway he stepped into was typical of quarian ships: the ceilings, covered in cargo netting festooned with boxes of supplies and spare parts ; the walls, dented and adorned with shelves, cargo cannisters, and open power conduits; the floor, rubberized to avoid shocks and slips, the rubber matting thin and worn to the steel decking below in places.

Across from him, his father stood stolidly, his reik head covering in purple and black cloth gleaming faintly in the starlight from the nearby window. His father was huge for quarians, standing even taller than Rael, and his massive arms were folded as he leaned against the bulkhead. "You primped long enough in there, Rael. Are you ready?"

Rael'Zorah nodded. "I am, father. Today I will transition from child to man, and I will make you proud." The older quarian laughed, and placed hand on his son's shoulder, squeezing. "Son, you've already made me proud. I want you to come back alive, and to help me in my work with the Migrant Fleet Marines when you do so." He gestured, and the two walked down the hallway towards the Ampitheater. "You've already packed, I presume?"

Rael nodded, his voice blurred by the voder in his helmet. "Yes, father. The supplies and starmaps are in my pack, and the platinum nuggets are embedded in the base of my air-pack. I have enough concentrated sterilized rations to last 12 weeks ,which is more than enough time to get to the Citadel and find work."

The two rounded a corner, the smaller hallway merging with the much larger main thoroughfare that lead to the ships amphitheater. The larger corridor was lined with cloth hangings, hand-sewn from various cloths to provide varying textures, then hand painted for contrast. This series of cloths showed the Morning War, the flight from Rannoch. In the lead were three stylized liveships – the Vidyna, the Rayya, and the Narghas – flanked by the rest of the quarian fleet.

Rael always found the hangings to be depressing and beautiful at the same time, and this one was no different. Instead of focusing on it, though , his mind was on his Pilgrimage. "You … still disapprove of my plan, father?"

Dal'Zorah vas Vidyna, Commandant of the Migrant Fleet Marines, shrugged his shoulders, making his heavily armored enviro-suit clank. "I think that the Citadel is a confusing place that is cut off from the reality of the rest of the galaxy, son. I agree that if you can make your way there, you can make it anywhere, and certainly that blasted salarian owes me his life for saving his egg clutch from those batarians...but I don't know how far gratitude will take you, son. The Citadel is … dangerous. The Council races are dangerous in their ignorance and disdain, and now with these humans coming out of the woodwork, we don't know what will happen next."

Rael nodded. "I know, father. But I will be careful." Their steps took them to the amphitheater, where over 200 quarians sat waiting, along with the ship's Captain, and Admiral Tatha'Raan. Next to the admiral was Shana, his sister, and her newly wedded husband, the admiral's son, Urthan. The admiral rose to his feet as the two entered, his black armor imposing and stern in the filtered light of the large room.

Zael walked calmly to the front of the platform , and bowed his head. "Captain, I am this day of age to undergo the Pilgrimage. I thank you for the gift of air and shelter, but now I must prove my worth and repay the debt I owe the fleet. Do I have your leave to depart?"

Captain Tonsae'Kael was a rarity in ship captains, a female engineer who had once been a Fleet Marine. Her own Pilgrimage was legendary – taking out an entire mercenary slaving ring with the help of an asari justicar, and bringing back two entire cruisers as her Gift to the Flotilla. The woman was small, but her gaze was as heavy as her voice as she spoke. "It is time, indeed, young Rael. The Vidnya will miss you as you depart, but know that you go with the will and grace of our ancestors, and all of our prayers." She held out her hand, and Rael withdrew his knife and handed to her.

Rather than gift her with her own, she glanced at the Admiral, who nodded. "Rael, go forth this day, and return to us a man." The admiral pulled his own knife, a gleaming blade with an adaptive haptic edge, and handed to him handle first. Rael was glad he'd cut his speaker or his gasp of surprise would have been heard, but he steeled his stance to show only appreciation and gratitude. "I will, sir."

The quarians sitting all stood, then, each one giving the quarian salute, the balled fist over the heart, and his father stiffened as he did the same. "My son, go. Return in pride ...or not at all." Rael exhaled, and without a look backwards walked to the far wall and the airlock set there. Next to the airlock was his supply pack. Every step was heavy, a mix of exitement, worry and fear churning in his gut, but he kept his spine ramrod straight as he shouldered his pack and then stepped into the airlock. "Prepare for decontamination routine. Stand by."

The airlock shuddered as UV lamps and bleach sprays erupted , then the lamps flared and the spray stopped after a few moments, followed by blastingly hot air. The airlock snapped open on the far side, revealing the docking tube to the volus trade ship that was his transport to the Citadel. A single volus stood there, his pressure suit black with pale copper trim, and highlights of white here and there. Glowing blue orbs in the volus' helmet regarded him calmly. "Welcome, Rannoch-clan. -hssk- I am Juras, enumerator third of the _Unrestrained Avarice. _Please follow me, -hssk- we have quarters prepared for you."

"Thank you, Juras. I am Rael'Zorah nar Vidyna. I'm pleased to be aboard...my father said I would be paying my way by dealing with some engineering issues you had?" He followed the lumbering little volus into the ship-bay, while the volus nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, indeed we do need -hssk- a little help. Our main engines are very powerful, -hssk-, but they are also very .. finicky."

The docking bay of the Vidnya was mostly filled with light quarian assault craft, but the smooth lines of the volus ship stood out. Her hull was a pale grey color, and she was small ship, a bulbous center section flanked by two boxy engines and a long train of cargo modules. The docking tube ran to one of these modules, and the volus triggered his omni-tool to open it. "We were actually -hssk- hoping to obtain a quarian engineer to work with us over -hssk- several runs...but none of your people were interested."

Rael suppressed a laugh. "Oh, they were probably interested, but the Captain doesn't like her engineers going off doing work outside the Fleet. As far as employment goes...well. If this thing on the Citadel doesn't work out, I might take you up on that offer."

The volus opened the interior hatch, revealing a cargo module interior turned into a cargo loading area. "Yes, well, that would be -hssk- most acceptable. I'm sure the Captain would love to discuss it with you when you have the time. For now, though... let me show you your quarters." The volus passed a set of cargo boxes and opened another hatchway, leading to a short stairwell leading up. "Since you are in your -hssk- envirosuit, we've taken the opportunity to pressurize the ship to our usual -hssk- levels. So if you need something, please make sure -hssk- to use the airlock door into the rest of the ship."

Rael nodded absently, taking in the differences in the volus ship. The cargo module had been split into two floors, this one clearly serving as a living area. There was a loose hammock, a charging station, a table with a small food storage unit next to it, a pair of rather comfortable looking chairs, and some shelving. The volus glanced around, almost nervously, then bobbed up and down. "And here we are, your room. -hssk- Once we get the current passengers off the ship we can put you into actual quarters but for right now -"

Rael interrupted him and laughed. "These are fine , and more than four times the space I had allotted to me on the Migrant fleet. If you will let me do a bit of unpacking and settling in, I see no reason why I can't go ahead and get started working on those engines." He set his pack down on the table, and glanced back over his shoulder.

Juras merely nodded again, and the volus backed away. "Very well then, Rannoch-clan. We'll be pulling out of dock in about 20 minutes...after that, the captain will probably call for you. Just head up the last stairs on the right if he does." The volus departed, and Rael sat down wearily on one of the seats, leanin his head back and exhaling.

"Now...just need to fix some engines and figure out how to make a ton of money once I get to the Citadel."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **_Some of these chapters are likely to be shorter than those of OSaBC, simply because there's not so much to cover. _

* * *

It took the _Unrestrained Avarice _a week to make the trip to the Citadel, and in that week Rael came to despise volus engineering in it's entirety. The reason why quarian engineers didn't do more work on volus ships became apparent – not due to stingy captains, but the sheer tedium and frustration of the work. The volus built solid enough ships, with no expense spared on environmental systems, safety, or defenses. But their engine technology was some kind of horrible derivation on turian drive systems, tweaked to achieve the best possible FTL fuel efficiency and speed at the cost of being very high maintenance.

Rather than invest in fuel shunts and control surface hydraulics, they had custom-written VI's monitor and adjust on the fly. Instead of engines built around the need to maintain and diagnose, they were built to be small and out of the way. As a result, wear and tear on the engines and the maneuver systems was nine times normal. Worse, all the engineering spaces were designed for volus techs, which meant he spent a lot of time crawling around on his hands and knees, welding shut stress cracks in tiny access tubes, and curled into a hunched posture to reach all manner of electronic access panels.

The volus ship , like most of it's merchant fleet, was a mix of practicality and comfort. The main portion of the ship was called the 'stem'. This consisted of the pod-shaped front section, which tapered to a cylinder that ran the length of the ship to the engineering spaces. Engines were attached to the sides of the ship, the bridge, crew quarters and nav center were in the pod, and ships systems and cargo access ports ran along the cylinder of the stem.

Cargo modules were attached at per-designed points all along the stem, most used for cargo, but two converted into quarters for aliens such as him, and the last pod was a medical bay. The ship wasn't armed, but it did have very good shielding, and the crew had a small arms locker in case they were boarded. The volus fleet didn't have much of a military, so the ship was protected in ports by a pair of turian Elanus Risk Control mercenaries.

Talking with the two mercs hadn't been very enlightening. Like many turians, they tended to the taciturn at the best of times, and their body language was distrusting and closed. They had been polite enough, in the sort of distantly formal way soldiers have with civilians, but it was clear they didn't want anything to do with him, much less to converse with him about their jobs. The volus, on the other hand, were fairly friendly once they saw how hard he worked. Most of them were fixated on how much profit this trade run would net them ; he got an impression that they had so far turned in record profits, and the nature of volus ships is that each full crew member got a share of said profit.

Rael finished his work on the port power stabilization systems, and began sealing up the access panel in the stem. The ship's atmosphere , inside the stem, was set to the standards of the volus home world, a heavy pressurized ammonia atmosphere. The air carried a dim green haze as a result, and he could feel the pressure against his suit, making him feel like he was being hugged tightly all the time. It didn't bother him that much, although he had to be careful how long he worked in the ship since he had to return to his quarters to top off his breathing tanks every six hours.

The volus , outside of their suits, were not very impressive looking. Stocky and heavily muscled, but rotund around the hips, they were waddling figures most of the time, dressed in loose fitting coveralls or light robes. Their heads bubbled from shoulders without necks, the face little more than two cavernous eyes set in a dark, bony ridge across the face. Strips of flesh with slits between seemed to serve as nose and mouth, the head covered in fine, almost downy hair that spiraled. Outside the suits, their voices had a dirge-like tone, unaltered by respirators.

Rael nodded as two of the volus crew trundled past, arguing about how they'd invest their crew share of profits when they docked, and he walked forward, towards the bridge. The volus ships were all about smooth lines, even access panels had rounded edges, and the only sharp corners he'd seen so far were in the cargo containers. Still, the spiraling doors and strange ramps that lead to every entry in the ship were hard to get used to.

Ducking under the opening door, the quarian emerged onto the volus bridge. It was a crescent shaped room, with banks of sensors and navigation computers forming a broad band on an upper deck, which was connected by ramps to a sort of pit. In the pit, surrounded by floating haptic screens done in ancestors-cursed purple color, Captain Vidan Marr sat in a comfortable looking command chair, pondering something on his omni-tool and comparing it to a data pad in his other hand.

Rael didn't know what to think of the captain. Ostensibly, the volus military was just a few frigates and maybe a cruiser or two , and one didn't think of volus as menacing. But the Captain was apparently part of the Volus Defense Force, and he didn't look anything like the rest of the volus on board. Even outside of his armor, he looked almost menacing. His shoulders were broader than even Rael's , thick with visible muscle in the heavy armored vest he wore. His legs were longer and more muscular, half covered with heavy boots ending in thick steel caps, and his build was more lean and somehow more blocky than fat. He stood almost a full foot taller than the rest of the volus on board, and his voice was like an avalanche smashing into a canyon.

Even the captain's face was daunting, the heavy bones of the mouth obscured by a growth of spiraling facial hair, his hair draped around his shoulders like the mane of some wild animal. A pair of ugly looking black pistols, each with a bore the size of two of Rael's fingers , were slung into low holsters on the volus's wide belt, along with what looked suspiciously like grenades festooning the rest of the belt's length.

The volus glanced up as Rael entered, his glowing red eyes narrowing. "Ah, good. You finished with the stabilizer, I assume?" Rael nodded, coming to attention without even meaning to do so. Something about the big volus just seemed to demand it. "Yes, Captain. The problem was simple, your people keep using the lowest cost components to fix items that were designed to use top of the line frequency modulation systems. Harmonic feedback from your power systems keeps blowing them out of sync, and then they overload when stressed."

Marr grunted, tossing his datapad to the nearby table. "I figured it would be something stupid like that. I swear , running a ship like this is akin to trying to catch helium with your hands. No matter." He turned to the main view-screen, set in the back wall in peculiar volus fashion, and gestured. "We are about to jump to the Widow Nebula. I believe that you will enjoy the view. First time on the Citadel?"

Rael nodded, relaxing a little. "Yes, Captain. I look forward to it." The volus snorted, and his beard and hair shook as he clambered out of his chair. "You shall change your tune once the asari start sneering at you, Rannoch-clan, but as you wish. You have worked very hard, gotten the engines back to 100% capacity, fixed our power problems, rebalanced distribution, and gotten our cranes working properly again. I know you said that you would work for passage, but I like hard work, and I have decided to give you a bonus." He handed over a credit chit. "In the off chance that you decide you would rather work for a living, we'll be docked for a week and a half after we drop you off."

Rael took it gratefully and bowed. "I will certainly consider it. But I have a task from my father and the Admiralty Board to discharge, and that must come before any other commitments." He shuffled slightly, and the volus only shrugged. "No matter. Ah...here we are."

The view port exploded into blazing purple , swirling light, radiantly streaming out from a single, glowing flower in the middle of the screen. Rael's jaw dropped in shock – he'd seen video and images of the Citadel but the real thing was so much larger than he expected. Gleaming arms of silver spread in equidistant spans from the vast ring of the Presidium, each one ablaze with lights and motion even from this great distance. Hundreds upon hundreds of ships moved in dense traffic patterns amid the arms, and hundreds more filed along tracks leading to the docking rings of the Presidium or the docking arms at the edges of the wards.

A turian dreadnaught cruised past, it's feather stylized wings loaded with disruptor missile pods and mobile point defense cannons. The _Unrestrained Avarice _soared under it smoothly, pulling into the primary Zakera ward traffic pattern with grace. Zael could feel the difference in the ship, now not shuddering and bucking every time it changed course, and Marr nodded. "Yes, I can feel the engines responding much better than earlier. Again, excellent work, Zael."

The quarian nodded absently, then smiled. "Thank you again, Captain. I.. I have a contact I'm supposed to meet on the ward, a salarian engineer known as Edat Kuraas. He said to meet him at a nightclub named Dark Star Lounge, do you happen to know where it is? Is it , well, safe?"

The volus nodded in return. "Yes, yes. Dance club, if you're into that sort of thing." His eyes flickered over the quarian's envirosuit and he laughed. "Doubt you are. At any rate, from the docks, you'll clear through C-sec – just a quick scan, really – and enter the Ward proper. There are rapid transit taxis that will take you there pretty quick. It is a large club, so the taxi should have it as a pre-programmed destination. That part of the ward is a pretty good area, if I remember correctly." The volus got back into his chair, and made a gesture of dismissal. "We'll be docking soon. Remember, if you change your mind, we'll be here for some time."

Rael nodded, making his way back to the cargo module where he had lived the past few days. He wasted little time gathering his possessions, such as they were, into his rucksack. Slinging it over his shoulder, he clambered down the ladder to the entry hatchway, where he saw the boarding tube had already been prepared. A pair of suited volus stood their, checking the landing status, and a few second later the ship vibrated with a heavy boom as it was clamped to the docks. The volus triggered a command, the loading tube sliding up to the doorway, then expanding out and down, linking to a metallic docking ring cradle 15 feet away.

Rael was the first one off the ship, drawing himself up to his full height as he exited. The docks were huge, each ship carefully moored into a diagonally slanting pier, secured with huge mass-effect booms affixed to the hull to hold them steady. The area immediately beyond was almost 100 feet across, long lines of immigrants slowly shuffling through a wide band of security checkpoints, each one staffed by a turian in grim, heavy blue armor.

Rael glanced around, at first staggered by the sheer variety of races. In one lane, a group of slender asari chatted with knowing smiles on their faces, their delicate blue skin offset by the pale silvers, greens and whites of the long , intricate gowns they wore. In another lane, a krogan in black armor towered over his C-Sec guard, barking belligerent sounding noises beyond the range of Rael's communicator that sounded more like animal howls than words.

Hanar floated serenely along the dockside, escorted by alert drell bodyguards in black leather knee length coats and security visors. An elcor lumbered past him , it's massive form draped in layers of knotted cloths, forming complex patterns. Humans, turians, even a pair of batarians, looking ill-at-ease, all of them moved and surged in a constant ebb and flow through the security.

It took Rael a long, long moment to realize , despite all the people he saw below, there wasn't a single quarian, other than him, anywhere to be seen.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **_The treatment of quarians in ME on the Citadel wasn't ever very good, and it always reminded me of the kind of petty harassment my father told me about during the civil rights era. Racism in any form is , of course, repugnant and stupid, but the sheer hypocritical nature of how the quarians were treated always infuriated me. _

* * *

Rael'Zorah spent almost 40 minutes in C-Sec customs, far longer than everyone else around him except a big krogan in dark blue and silver armor. The C-sec officer clearing him through was salarian, dressed in form-fitting ballistic cloth with heavy ceramic armor plates done in black and blue. The salarian's large, black eyes blinked rapidly as he paged through a list of checkpoints on his computer.

"So, you're here on the Citadel to visit a business contact in the wards. You have nothing to declare except the contents of your backpack and , of course, your weapons." The salarian frowned at the big sniper rifle. "There are weapon restrictions in effect for non-residents. We have enough crime problems in the lower Wards, we don't need weapons brought in."

Rael frowned. "The rifle is code-locked, you can see that. All quarian weapons are. I certainly don't intend to wander around an area you've just admitted is having a crime problem unarmed, officer."

The salarian shrugged. "Your pistol should suffice. Your sniper rifle is a military grade weapon, and you don't have the proper licenses to carry such a thing aboard station. Nor is it likely that you'd be issued such." The salarian picked it up and placed a tracking tag on it. "It will be stored in the C-Sec armory for the duration of your stay free of charge. When you depart, it will be returned to you." He turned his attention to the scan results of the rest of the rucksack. "Everything else looks … acceptable."

Rael just folded his arms. He'd been intensely questioned by two C-Sec officers, even after presenting his paperwork from the Admiralty Board and stating that he was only going to be on the Citadel a short time. Since the quarians were not members of the Citadel Council charter, they had almost no real rights in Citadel space, and it was clear that C-Sec didn't want quarians on the station if they could help it.

Despite that, Rael and his father had been extremely careful in planning his trip, and Rael had half-expected them to confiscate his sniper rifle. It gave them something to focus on rather than just throwing up objection after objection to his very presence. He waited patiently as the salarian ran several more searches, before frowning and turning back to face him, activating his omni-tool as he did so.

"You are cleared for the Zakera Ward. Be advised that your travel permit does not grant you access to the Presidium Ring under any circumstances. Begging, vagrancy, attempting to peddle goods, or other transgressions can result in your expulsion, as will any violation of Citadel laws and codes."

Rael lifted his helmet , eyes narrowing. "I'm the son of one of the most powerful quarians in the Fleet, officer. I have no need to 'peddle' anything. Is that all?"

The salarian's liquid black eyes blinked. "Yes. Indeed. Proceed through the scanning gate there to enter the ward proper." Without an additional word, he made a gesture, and Rael picked up his rucksack and finally got past the customs line.

He noted with disgust that the person behind him, a turian, was given a quick hand-held scan and waved through, despite the fact that the man had a combat shotgun clipped to his back. The rather bitter sounding comments from his father and the volus captain made more sense now. Rael gave an internal shrug and kept walking.

The docks gave way to the upper wards after he passed through a short tunnel filled with scanners. He stood on a broad balcony, almost 400 feet long and half again as wide, overlooking the entire Ward. Tall, soaring towers broke the jumbled array of streets and buildings below, and ground cars choked the many streets that wound between them. Hover cars sped through the 'sky' above, soaring along at alarming speeds, ignored by the crowds. A long bank of haptic signs and advertisements glared overhead, while conical advertisement stands hawked various digital products.

Rael continued walking, taking in everything around him, but immediately noticed that the people around him gave him a wide berth. The turians passing by would glance at him dismissively, while the asari didn't even bother looking, sweeping by with graceful motions to avoid coming close to him. A salarian nearly walked into him, and angrily gestured at him as she rushed past, rapidly talking into a comm-link without pausing. Rael moved more towards the right side of the balcony, scanning around until he found the taxi station Marr had described.

Six hover cars were neatly parked beside a haptic terminal, a news outlet blaring the most recent events mounted on the wall next to it. A pair of C-Sec officers lounged nearby, one turian and one salarian, their eyes following various people as they walked past. Rael squared his shoulders and stepped up to the taxi interface, which unfolded additional haptic panels as he got closer.

The panels formed a map of the Citadel, with literally thousands of destinations listed. Rael had to spend several minutes sorting through the options before he found the Dark Star Lounge. He selected it, and the haptic interface pulsed, indicating the air-car on the far right, which opened it's hatch to admit him.

He shouldered his back-pack and headed to the car, stopping as the two C-Sec officers stepped in front of him, the Turian glaring at him. "Where the hell do you think you're going, transient?"

Rael sighed. "I have just cleared C-Sec customs. I am here visiting a friend of my father to pick up some equipment for the Fleet. I certainly don't intend to be on this station more than 24 hours. I have a position on the _Unyielding Avarice _with Captain Vidan Marr, you can contact him at 449-4 if you need to verify my identify. Is there some problem?" He hoped that, if they actually called, the volus captain would cover for him, otherwise this might get ugly.

The turian's mandibles flickered in a sneer. "We don't care for peddlers and we've had reports of one of your kind selling counterfeit omni-tool packages nearby. Tanis, run the ID past Customs."

Rael wordlessly handed over the identity pass he'd been given by Customs to the salarian, who snatched it out of his hand and scanned it. A moment later his sallow features screwed up in a scowl. "Checks out." The salarian threw it the floor. "Get your business done and get out."

Without another word the two C-sec strode off, the Turian literally shoulder-checking the smaller Rael out of the way, sending him staggering. Rael struggled with his anger for a long moment before bending to pick up his ID card and walk to the taxi, which still waited.

Clambering in, he jerked as the seat adjusted around him, conforming to his shape, and the hatch closed. The VI in the console illuminated itself. "Welcome to the Citadel, 'NOVALUEFOUND', and welcome to Traxis Transport. Your taxi fare is added to your required customs clearance tax that you will pay at departure. Next stop, Dark Star Lounge, where the music is hotter than the Big Bang!"

The car took off smoothly, swooping out over the balcony into the Ward proper. Rael could now see the ward was built into two levels. The upper wards were exposed, full of gleaming buildings, all built on a massive plate of metal that was anchored to the curving walls of the arm of the station. Below that, in the curved space below the plate, the lower wards squatted, barely visible except in flashes where the plate was cut away to allow tram and taxi access.

The hover car descended into the traffic pattern proper, buildings flashing by in smears of haptic light and motion. Rael settled back, shifting his shoulders to get comfortable, and brought up his omni-tool to begin a short message to his father.

"Reached the Citadel, and it's both incredible and infuriating. You were right about how I'd be treated, the security people are horrible and everyone else seems to avoid me. They keep claiming they have problems with quarian thieves and criminals, but I have a hard time buying it. Maybe they just want to look down on someone, no clue."

He paused, taking in the giant tower he was approaching, and continued. "Still the architecture is incredible. If the Migrant Fleet had a tiny percentage of this kind of wealth, we'd be living like kings. I should be at the Dark Star Lounge soon, and I hope your friend is more polite than the rest of the salarians I've met so far, or we're going to have problems."

He closed the tool, as the car descended. "Arriving at Thessus Tower, level one. The Dark Star Lounge is just inside. We hope you enjoy your time on the Citadel, 'NOVALUEFOUND', and remember Traxis Transport for all your intra-station travel needs." The car touched down with a small jolt, and the hatch split open and away, allowing him to swing out of the clingy , gel-like seat.

He looked up, and up, at the tower – it must have been 50 stories tall, longer than most of the cruisers in the Migrant Fleet. The entrance to the building was a massive curved portal with wide-set doors, and a giant krogan in gleaming white armor stood at the entrance, hands holding an assault rifle the size of Rael's leg.

With a nervous swallow, he approached the door, coming to a stop when the krogan shifted to face him. Up close the krogan was even bigger, Rael's head barely reaching his chest. His crest was a dark, dull blue in color, and his skin was almost stark white, set off by baleful looking red eyes that were slitted orbs in his scarred face.

"What do you want, buckethead? Club doesn't cater to beggars, so get lost before I lose you some limbs." The krogan's voice was rough and snarling, full of restrained, bored violence, and Rael forced himself to calm as he responded. The massive weapon in his hand was vaguely pointed in his direction, it's double barrels cavernous in size. Rael swallowed and forced his voice to calm.

"My name is Rael'Zorah. I'm here to meet Edat Kuraas."

The effect the name had was immediate, the krogan's weapon shifted away from Rael and he took a step back. "Huh. Alright, in you go, quarian. If you're here to see the Shifter, you must be more than you look like. " The krogan mashed something on his omni-tool, and the brass-framed doors opened, revealing a foyer with walls covered in swirling haptic designs.

Taking a breath, he stepped inside.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**_Things will start to pick up at this point. I never liked the way the Dark Star Lounge came off in the game, and I never understood why, if the Citadel was all like the Manhattan skyline, we never saw any of it from the outside. _

* * *

The interior of the Dark Star Lounge was a study in contrasts, of light and dark and crazed, mutagenic haptic decoration. Rael'Zorah's footwear clicked against the polished floors as he took in the vista spread out below him.

He was standing on a high balcony, overlooking the rest of the club below. On his level, through a set of double doors labeled "VIP ONLY", he could hear loud music. The pair of salarians standing in front of said doors were armed and looked very alert. As he watched, a turian in an expensive cut suit that cut away in layers to reveal light battle armor walked in , an asari in a glittering silver dress with haptic panels on his arm. The guards bowed respectfully and opened the doors, letting the pair past without a word.

The lounge clearly catered to two sets of customers. Below, he could see a common dancing area, open to the rest of the Ward, with no bouncers. A bar wrapped around a central pillar, manned by relaxed looking turians in stylish , draped coats, while a mix of asari, turians, and the occasional human danced wildly on the wipe, open dance floor. They looked like average people, a far cry from the obviously wealthy clientele this part of the Lounge expected.

The room he was in was completely separate from the public section. Tasteful fountains of colored water, enhanced by holographic generators, splashed down the slate-patterned walls, the water gathering in a trough lined by all manner of flowers from a dozen worlds. Black leather couches and sedans were scattered around a circular room almost 50 feet across, it's domed ceiling covered in images from some kind of sports even on Palaven.

Stairs filed off in three directions from the main room, the central staircase split in half and flanking the double doors that lead to the VIP room, opening up to another floor where a heavy bass beat emanated from. Rael was about to head that direction when two more salarians, both in shiny blue and off-white armor, walked up to him calmly. "Quarian. Rael'Zorah nar Vidyna ?"

Rael nodded. "That's me. You're from Edat Kuraas?"

The salarian on the left only nodded. "Follow me." He glanced to his partner. "Go and handle customs. Edat isn't happy C-sec ignored his bribe." The other salarian gave a shallow slash of a smile and walked away, and the first turned back to Rael. "This way."

He headed for a panel set into the wall, which slid away revealing an elevator cab. Rael followed him in, and the doors shut silently. The salarian activated his omni-tool, and the elevator began to ascend, smoothly humming along it's track. The salarian turned to Rael with a blank expression. "Ginnister Kuraas apologizes for the inconvenience you experienced at the hand of C-Sec. My compatriot will retrieve your sniper rifle for you, and hopefully you can transact your business in peace going forward." The salarian honorific translated on Rael's omni-tool to something like "Master Boss", not exactly a comforting title.

"Uh, thank you? Is this sort of , well, racism really that common on the Citadel?" Rael kept his voice as calm as possible, and the salarian only shrugged it's thin shoulders.

"Your people are not seen in a good light by many. But business is business, and if you're too picky about who you work with, someone else can beat you to the mark. Racism is an intellectual waste of time, perpetuated by the underclasses of the galaxy who need someone to look down upon to justify their own lack of importance."

Rael couldn't help but smile at the clipped , dismissing tones the salarian used. The elevator doors opened, and Rael exited, glancing around the new area they had entered.

It was decorated in gleaming, glossy black and silver. Black tiles of stone covered the floor, set off here and there by expensive looking woven rugs of dark , muted colors and vibrant patterns. The walls were black wood of some kind, with a grainy, almost cracked texture, pierced here and there by oval, silver framed windows overlooking the Ward.

The walls were covered in memorabilia – here, a double-barreled Ghost LMG, one of only six produced, another wall covered in haptic images of a hulking salarian next to a variety of famous figures. The turian Primarch, the deadly Spectre Galen Othan, movie star Dela Blazan, even one with the salarian posing with a human in a decorated military uniform. An expensive looking set of leather-covered furniture looped around the curve of one corner, surrounding a VI-driven entertainment center, a slender asari asleep on one of the divans, the soft sound of music wafting over.

Another wall was dominated by a series of curved, ceramic bookshelves, holding a wide variety of extremely old-looking books from all races. The center of the room was taken up by a carving of some kind of crystalline shape, with quietly trickling water sliding down it's sides into a shallow pool, where a variety of fish swam placidly.

The far wall ended in a shallow staircase leading up to a balcony overhang, from which a small cluster of haptic screens and video displays surrounded a huge steel desk. A window was installed behind the desk, giving yet another stunning view of the entire Ward laid out below, the glimmer of light from the Widow star casting the entire room into a delicate purple tint.

Behind the desk was powerfully built salarian. The figure stood as Rael stepped forward, even at a distance he looked large. He wore an expensive looking armored chest-plate, trimmed in soft fabrics that trailed over his arms and legs in wide loops of fabric. A mantle of some kind of silken looking fabric in dark silver wrapped around his neck, the ends trailing down to his waist.

The salarian's skin was almost jet black, set off by a single slash of pale cream bisecting where an eye should have been. An octagon of black steel covered it instead, a sort of headset attached to it , haptic overlays obscuring the rest of the narrow face. Expensive rings of platinum encircled two of the salarian's fingers, and a linked belt of interlapping gold and silver scales trailed from his shoulder and around his waist.

The figure began walking down the staircase, curved legs in heavy black leather boots visible in flashes as his long robes parted. He came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, gesturing to a pair of overstuffed leather chairs next to a small bar. "Rael'Zorah nar Vidyna, welcome to the Citadel. I am Edat Kurass. Some call me the Shifter. Have a seat."

Rael did so, sinking into the proffered chair with a muted thanks. Edat gave a subtle nod to the other salarian, who vanished back into the elevator, and turned to pour himself a drink , a dark purple liquid. "I would offer you a drink, but... " He made a vague gesture of a mask by trailing his free hand down his face. "Not quite sure how that works in social settings."

Rael smiled. "Understandable, sir. My father sends his greetings and wishes that you are well."

Edat settled into the chair opposite him, his good eye gleaming wetly and with sharp intellect. "Ah, Dal. Your father is a mighty warrior, and a brave man. It's been 20 years since we nearly died trying to save my colony and family from batarian slavers. For him to risk his life and future for aliens was something I did not expect." He sipped, chuckling. "I was a cynical man then, and he showed me there was still good left in the galaxy."

Rael nodded. He'd heard the stories – his father and two other quarians caught up in the batarian attack on a salarian colony they'd done their Pilgrimage at. They could have fled, instead they helped defend the salarian egg clutches and females, one quarian dying and his father nearly killed by wounds and infections. He'd been awarded the Mark of Valor from the Salarian Dalatrass of the colony, and returned with a donated top of the line salarian frigate, filled with medical equipment, as a gift to the Fleet.

His father had also saved Edat's life in a firefight, and the salarian had sworn him what was called a debt of grace. Now, the salarian had sent a message, saying he could repay his debt and get help with something he needed at the same time. Rael sat back further, and listened.

Edat's hands wrapped around his drink, as he sipped again. "I've had a bit of a problem recently. I do a great deal of work for independent parties, you see, as a procurer of goods. Military hardware, unregistered ships, weapons, that sort of thing. Perhaps not entirely legal, but nothing criminal. My largest customer is the famed Aria T'loak."

Rael didn't recognize the name, but he nodded anyway. Edat gave a thin smile and continued. "Recently, I got my hands on some very interesting software and hardware. It's some kind of combat package for use with fighter targeting software. Expensive. Worth millions potentially, and best of all not coded with any Digital Rights Management."

Rael tilted his head. "Smuggling is one thing. This sounds more dangerous than that. Military software of that magnitude had to have belonged to someone, sir."

Edat nodded. "Oh, I'm sure it did. Aria plays fast and loose with the law, on the rare occasion she bothers thinking about it at all. Omega is a law unto itself, the largest and most powerful of the Terminus Systems pirate ports, and she's the strongest of the warlords out there. Even the Council won't dare act against her directly."

Edat paused to sip his drink again, a wry smile flitting over his features. "Sending the package in the open is a stupid idea. Tried it once, just ended up in a big firefight. Waste of time and energy. Had to cover my tracks better, dig deeper. Layers upon layers of misdirection, that sort of thing. Now the heat's cooled down enough where I can use a different method to get what I need. And that's where you come in."

Edat pulled out a small package from his robes. It was flat black, half the size of Rael's palm, and clearly code-locked with a scrambler band wrapped around it. "My men are being watched, and no doubt so am I. But no one is going to pay any real attention to a quarian. All I need you to do is run the package for me, to a location in the lower wards here. One of Aria's people will be there to pick it up, and in exchange Aria is paying me in a mix of credits, favors, and information, but that's not what's important. At least, to you."

Edat stood, setting his drink down. "Six months ago, I came into the possession of the location of a dextro-compatible world , deep in the Terminus, inside a nebula. Habitable, with a rich asteroid belt. Completely outside of Council space...or influence. Breathable atmosphere, but no native life. Lots of water. Pirates and smugglers don't even know about it, it's reached from a mass relay only recently unlocked by a scout team...who unfortunately met their demise before they could get their reports out."

Rael's breath caught. The Migrant Fleet had been looking for a colonizable world for years. But most of the compatible planets were either in Council space and off-limits, or were so open to pirates and the like that settling them would end up in disaster. If he could deliver the coordinates of a world, especially one with mining-accessible resources, to the Fleet Admirals himself...

_Keelah , the scale of it. _

Edat glanced back over his shoulder. "I owe your father, and your people, a great deal. I could make myself tens of millions of credits or more by selling that information to the proper people. Probably more. Run this errand for me, and the coordinates are yours."

Rael narrowed his eyes. "How dangerous is this likely to be for me? You mentioned you were being watched, and that your people had tried and failed to deliver it before."

Edat nodded, turning back to face him. "I won't lie. There are some very .. dangerous parties interested in this data. Some of them are ruthless enough to kill for it. They can't attack me here, in the seat of my power – the disturbance would bring down C-Sec and the Spectres on their heads, and the nature of the software is that questions would be asked, wars might start. No, they won't launch an all out attack, unless they're desperate or crazy." Edat shrugged. "The truth is that I've taken what steps I can. I've had a man go get your sniper rifle. I've hired a few mercs to act as a distraction. I've spread rumors that I'm doing the deal myself, in a location in the opposite from where you'll be."

Edat handed over the package, and Rael took it after a moment's hesitation. "I wouldn't ask you to do this if it wasn't important, Rael'Zorah. Putting you at risk is not something I'm happy about. But if this software fell into the wrong hands, it could mean war. Intergalactic war."

Rael looked down. "What...what is it, then? You said it was fighter targeting software."

Edat sighed, glancing away. "It is. Sort of. It's an experimental VI hybrid overlay that allows small fighter and drone ships to coordinate and fight autonomously. A neural network that learns from opponents and updates it's reactions accordingly. Put into a large enough fleet of fighter ships, it could outfight and overwhelm any organic crewed ship."

Rael stared at the tiny package in something like dawning horror. "This sounds far, far too much like the sort of thing my people embarked on that lead to the rise of the geth!"

Edat shook his head. "It is not an AI and it does not grow smarter with added units. The danger is that any fool with a pile of omni-gel and a minifacturing plant can whip up the fighter designs in that package and have a fully-working fleet of attack fighters in days. Fighters are not that big of a deal right now because they have to sacrifice lots of space for life support, for a pilot. They can't maneuver in ways that would make the pilot unconscious, or react the way a machine would. These things are a lot more capable than any organic pilot."

Rael nodded. "And if the VI learns...eventually it makes no mistakes. It would be nearly unbeatable."

Edat nodded. "The originals are gone, the designers are dead, and the only backup is on that set of OSD's. They're code-locked to the DNA of your contact, a turian female who works for Aria. Anyone else trying to open them will wipe them clean. A good enough hacker could crack it, given time, but as an extra precaution I've added a time lock. If you don't get them to the contact in time, they'll wipe themselves."

Rael nodded. "How much time do I have?"

Edat folded his arms. "My techs say it would take at least four days to break the encryption, so you have exactly fifty hours starting about fifteen minutes from now. Deliver the OSD's to the turian, then get back here as soon as you can. I'll get you the information and you can fly back to the fleet on a light frigate I picked up from an auction. A gift." The salarian smiled.

Rael nodded. "That is...a great deal of money for a simple run of a package. Aria must be paying well for this. Is it the best idea to give it to a Terminus Warlord?"

Edat shrugged , and spread his hands. "She's paying me millions of credits, a cut of her network, agents in a dozen ports, favors when I need them, and information that will allow me to make even more money. This sort of thing is going to go to someone. With the way the Council handled the recent emergence of the humans , I don't trust them not to abuse this sort of technology. Giving it to my own people would just result in the STG using it to do gods only knows what kind of mischief." His voice turned bitter. "Not that I'm on good standings with my people, anyway. Handing it over to the Spectre's would just get me shot in the head, they aren't the most understanding people in the galaxy. It's either sell it to Aria, or delete it. Why throw away the money?"

Rael frowned. "Aria is likely to use it to aid piracy, or raiding, or .. whatever Terminus warlords do." He paused. "You could give it to us. The Migrant Fleet, I mean."

Edat laughed, a low, musical sound. "I thought of that. But your own reaction to it showed me why that was a bad idea. And frankly, while I certainly owe your people a lot, this deal is going to set me up as one of the prime information brokers in the entire galaxy. I can help the quarians more by completing this and enhancing my resources. Your people need allies badly, and I'm about the only one extending a hand here."

Rael sighed. "I guess I don't have much choice. What you're offering in return is … a dream for my people. I'd be a fool to throw that away on principle. Still not sure I like it... "He broke off, as the elevator whisked open again, and a salarian in gray armor walked in, carrying Rael's sniper rifle.

Edat nodded. "I know, I know. But trust me, it will work out. With any luck, this will turn Aria into enough of a power to actually unify the Terminus. My own models suggest that she's the least violent and malevolent of the warlords, and if the Terminus unifies, the Citadel will have to deal with her instead of pretending she's not a problem."

Rael took his sniper rifle back from the salarian, then frowned. "Alright. So , where do I go, who am I meeting, and how do I avoid problems from C-Sec?"

Edat grinned. "First, I've added a weapons license to your customs records. I've also removed the taxi reference to you flying to my tower, here, in case anyone starts data-snooping. I've added that you're here at the request of the volus ambassador, working on data systems in the volus enclaves of Zakera Ward, and that you have a free-travel pass. The best way to avoid C-Sec trouble is to act as if you are horribly offended and immediately demand they contact the volus ambassador. Once they check your record and see that pass, they'll let you go."

Edat handed over another OSD. "This is the information on your contact. Her name is Sanas Sovirian. She's got white plates, blue facial markings, and dark gray skin. She will be at a club called the Swirl in the far end of the lower Zakera ward, near the volus enclave. She's looking for 'the son of Dal'. Meet with her, hand her the OSD. She should give you an OSD and a small metallic token in return." Edat pauses. "If she's not there, fall back immediately and call me. Don't linger, don't search, and assume something has gone wrong."

Rael nodded. "What do I do if I'm , well, attacked by someone after the data?"

Edat shrugged. "I'd suggest using violence, myself. Anyone after that thing that knows you have it is going to try and kill you to get it. If it comes to that, use your best judgment." Edat gestured to the salarian standing next to him. "Kol here will take you through an access tunnel to an aircar. It will fly you to the volus enclave, and you can start from there. Good luck, Rael'Zorah."

Rael rolled his shoulders and turned to Kol, who merely nodded to Edat. "Let's go."


End file.
